Charles E. Burchfield, Journals, March 7, 1911

Tuesday March 7, 1911
     It is winter again - real Winter! All morning a cold wind has been chasing grey clouds across the sky and at noon a fine snow began to come down,getting harder all afternoon, until now it is a regular blizzard: trees and houses have become indistinct and the howling wind hurls the snow hither and thither.
     Before school this morning and at noon I worked on the posters. Bill and I wrote Poetry again today. I started it, laborously working out this masterpiece:
                         I.  
     There was a ronyon called Bill,
     Who thought that he could act
     But he is trying still –
     For a dramatic pose he lacked.
                       II.
     He posed and posed and posed
     But he posed and posed in vain;
     The way he posed and posed and posed
     Certainly’d give one a pain.
                      III.  
     Ha! Ha!” he cried, “I know what I’ll do,
     I'll skin a little bean
     Or perhaps, I’ll make it two --,
     And then I’ll be a perfect scream.
                          IV.
     A little navy bean he bought
     Then homeward he did spin,
     And on a little stool he “sat”,
     And began to skin the bean.
                          V.  
     First he used a pen-knife
     Then he used a hatchet
     But then he wailed like a fife,
     For he couldn’t even scratch it!
                        VI.
     Then he said to me “you ape!
     Can you skin this bean?
     I’ve certainly seen you skin agrape
     The slickestI’ve ever seen. 

                        VII.
     “What makes you want a skin this bean?”
     I asked with gushing fear,
     Then there was a wretched scene,
     For I saw him shed a tear.
                       VIII.
     “I want to act - that you know.”
     He said with face forlorn
     “But I cannot get a decent pose”.
     And so he ‘gan to mourn.
                      XI.
     “Aw Kid” I said “skin a cheese
     Then stand upon the heath
     Bond your knew, give a sneeze
     And then do skin your teeth.”
                       X.
     “Thank you”, he cried like many
     And then he gave me a penny.
     I said “you villainous knave
     Now don't forget to shave!”

To this he wrote four verses about me and a skunk – Well, our relations (mine and the skunks) got rather complicated and in the end of the poem I fled! After supper I started on the two other posters but Louise and Edith persuaded me to play “500.” Fred had been playing but had gone upstairs mad, when Louise teased him about his freckles.

Charles E. Burchfield, March 7, 1911